Rubble
by EHWIES
Summary: It wasn't just-the-Azkaban, it was his parents too and the blasting burning off the walls and James dying and Lily dying and Peter dying and Peter not dying anymore, just reeking of shame and you-killed-my-best-friend, and his cousin's face flooded with ember delight, Kedavra-happy, and mostly James dying, probably, but what the hell did Remus know, he wasn't him. / Sirius dies.


**Rubble**

It's hardest on Saturdays, after the Order's weekly meetings draw their curtains to a close and wizards drop their masks at the door and run away, even Tonks, even without her disguises to drop. It feels dirty, squatting in Sirius's house—Harry's, now. Tonks drops off groceries twice a week with a wet eye, and the rest of the time it's all portraits that won't shut up and chandelier cobwebs and Kreacher skulking in the corners, muttering about his mistresses and shrieking _**HALF BREED HALF BREED HALF**_ whenever Remus stumbles too close. Tonks drops off his favorite steak-and-kidney pie and offers him a proper place to stay, with her, he _belongs_ with _her_ she says but she hurts and all his friends are dead. She rings in his ears like Kreacher and Mistress Black and every other damn thing in these walls, save for the headless elves lining the walls, which are even worse somehow when they just watch.

If you want to talk about the gay, fine, we'll talk about the gay, because it's always been there, peek-a-booing its smartass face out of the walls, how could it not be when you get that close to another person—and Sirius wouldn't sleep in his own bedroom, not after everything, so he'd sit on the spare bed in the spare bedroom and weep and Remus would sit beside him, sit on his hands because if he didn't he knew he'd try to touch Sirius's back, shoulder, anything, and that would just make the weeping worse. They'd be up all night sometimes, crying and laughing and Sirius punching holes through the walls and letting his hand bleed out as Remus waved his wand and fixed all the damage he could see, on the outside. Sometimes, when he took the Wolfsbane, Sirius would transform too and they'd huddle together on the ground all night, nuzzling.

It must have been the Azkaban, Remus said all the time, the-Azkaban was no good for him, he just needed time away from the-Azkaban and he'd be fine, just a distraction, just long enough to shake the haunting out of his black eyes and Remus would do everything right and make him happy but sometimes he knows it _wasn't_ just-the-Azkaban, it was his parents too and the blasting burning off the walls and James dying and Lily dying and Peter dying and Peter not dying anymore, just reeking of shame and _you-killed-my-best-friend_, and his cousin's face flooded with ember delight, _Kedavra_-happy, and mostly James dying, probably, but what the hell did Remus know, he wasn't him. Before he dug up the other mirror to give to Harry, Sirius would giggle into his and rock back and forth, back and forth, and Remus was sure he'd lost his mind in there, in _the-Azkaban_, only if that were all then why did he always scream for James and not for Peter's throat, for Bellatrix's, every damn neck that Remus would snap if he could if it would only unbreak the past.

Not like Remus doesn't miss him too, but Remus misses Lily also, and the memory of whatever Peter used to be; Sirius was fanatical, focused. This house is dank and old and lighter without Sirus, and heavier, too, in some ways. He was always so deep in the quicksand of his losing it, Sirius was, and it used to pull Remus under, drag him so he could hardly stumble to Dumbledore's beck and calls some mornings, when Sirius didn't want him there and he'd stay in that room anyway because he didn't know how not to make it his responsibility, trying and making it worse and trying harder in retribution. The best part is that Remus never even cared, would have Spellotaped their way forward forever as long as it meant forever. We all want the person that ruins us, somehow—Tonks wanting him and him missing Sirius, Sirius missing James and James always leaving them for Lily, Lily crying for Snape in her dreams and Snape selling his curses to Voldemort but for a price, it's always for a price when you pick badly. And Remus is picking badly, staring down mirrors and pretending he sees the dog listening in the shadows behind his pallid reflection, always just a shade out of reach, wagging his tail and galloping home.


End file.
